


Winter Winds

by your_friendly_neighborhood_fan_author



Category: Chip 'n Dale: Rescue Rangers, Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991), Disney Duck Universe, Disney Ducks (Comics), DuckTales (Cartoon 1987), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Bentina Beakley, BAMF Donald Duck, BAMF Webby Vanderquack, Black Heron: Agent of FOWL, Dewey Duck has a sword, Dewford Duck: Agent of FOWL, Donald Duck Has PTSD, Donald Duck Needs a Hug, Donald Duck: Agent of FOWL, Even evil Donald is still Dad Donald, FOWL AU, Falcon Graves: Agent of FOWL, Gandra Dee: Agent of FOWL, Hubert Duck: Agent of FOWL, Hurt Donald Duck, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I believe I am the first to tag Panchito's full name, I'm as tired of writing them as you are of reading them, Jeeves: Agent of FOWL, John D. Rockerduck: Agent of FOWL, Llewellyn Duck: Agent of FOWL, Older Sibling Huey Duck, Parent Donald Duck, Phantom Blot: Agent of FOWL, Phantom Brat: Agent of FOWL, SO MANY DAMN TAGS!!!!, Steelbeak: Agent of FOWL, no beta we die like men, so that's cool
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23418604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/your_friendly_neighborhood_fan_author/pseuds/your_friendly_neighborhood_fan_author
Summary: There is a storm brewing in Duckburg. A whirlwind of crime, corruption, theft, manslaughter, and murder.And at the center of this storm is up and coming billionaire Donald Duck, along with his three, rarely seen children.Little known to the world, they are actually Agents of the Fiendish Orginization for World Larceny.F.O.W.L
Relationships: Bentina Beakley & Webby Vanderquack, Dewey Duck & Donald Duck, Dewey Duck & Donald Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck, Dewey Duck & Donald Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck & Scrooge McDuck & Webby Vanderquack, Dewey Duck & Drake Mallard, Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck, Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck & Lena (Disney: DuckTales), Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck & Scrooge McDuck & Launchpad McQuack & Webby Vanderquack, Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck & Scrooge McDuck & Webby Vanderquack, Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck & Webby Vanderquack, Donald Duck & Lena (Disney: DuckTales), Donald Duck & Louie Duck, Donld Duck & Steelbeak, Drake Mallard/Launchpad McQuack, Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera & Drake Mallard, Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera & Huey Duck, Launchpad McQuack & Scrooge McDuck & Webby Vanderquack, Launchpad McQuack & Webby Vanderquack, Lena (Disney: DuckTales)/Webby Vanderquack, Louie Duck & "Glittering" Goldie O'Gilt, Louie Duck & Lena (Disney: DuckTales), Louie Duck & Webby Vanderquack, Scrooge McDuck & Webby Vanderquack
Comments: 54
Kudos: 65





	Winter Winds

**Author's Note:**

> The hearts of men will grow cold if winter is all they've ever known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to lunasnwg on tumblr and LunaStarsNight here on ao3 who came up with the original idea for this au.

Dusk falls over Duckburg, the amber and pink coral light casting long shadows of towering skyscrapers across the metropolis. Outside of the bustling capital of business, twenty miles from the furthest stretches of the downtown district, a small concrete compound stood. It was a dwarf-sized building, although heavily guarded, with muscular bulldogs equipped with sidearms strapped to their hips. At least thirty of them at large patrolled the building and stood by every entrance.

The guards didn’t know what was inside that they were protecting. All they knew was their orders to not let anyone in this building, besides Mr. McDuck, even if it cost them their lives. The day guards’ shift was almost over, in about five minutes they would get to go home. Their hands all jumped to their holsters as a hideous red and green safari jalopy screeched into the parking lot, leaving skid marks as it parked in the middle of the asphalt area. A duck practically leapt out of the car, running to the back of the vehicle, and pulling something out of the backseat.

It was a wheeled ink black bassinet, holding not one, nor two, but three eggs resting in the soft interior of the stroller. He quickly closed and locked his car, and walked with a purpose toward the front entrance. The surrounding guards immediately pulled their guns, pointing them at the man dressed in a navy blue sailor’s uniform, complete with a ribboned hat. He didn’t move his hands from the handle of the stroller even as the loaded barrels of three guns stared him down.

“I didn’t have time for the guard at the gate, and I certainly don’t have time for this. I’m the nephew of Scrooge McDuck, let me through. Now.” the sailor growled, and the guards lost some of their gumption, guns wavering, with even one holstering his. The sailor leveled a harsh glare at the other two and they holstered their weapons as well under his scrutinizing gaze. He nodded solemnly at the dogs before opening and walking right through the glass and metal door. 

The sailor walked with a purpose down the halls, his webbed feet slapping against the linoleum floor with every step, the repetitive sound echoing throughout the empty building, as the wheels of the bassinet whirred against the tile. It takes a few minutes, but he finds the room he’s been searching for.

The control room.

The main hub of advanced machinery. The motherland of sophisticated electronics. The granddaddy of nigh futuristic technology. And the temporary residence of one Scrooge McDuck, scottish trillionaire, famed adventurer, business extraordinaire, and a broken looking man, slumped over a communication panel, his crumpled form only illuminated by the spare shaft of fluorescent light that penetrated the dark room from the brightly lit hall.

The sailor left the wheeled bassinet of eggs right next to the door frame, out of the room but not out of sight. He walked toward the older duck, fists clenching and unclenching as he drew closer, doing his best to keep the everpresent rage contained. He needed answers, not a fight. He placed a firm but friendly hand on the elder’s shoulder, and Scrooge looked up at him. Even in the limited light, the sailor could see the redness of his eyes, the matted feathers on his face, the residue of tears, and the uneven, ragged way that his chest moved up and down.

“Donald-” The old duck whispered, before being immediately cut off by the sailor.

“What did you do?” He growled, putting a little more force into the hand on Scrooge’s shoulder. 

“What?”

“I saw the news report. Unexpected rocket launch outside of Duckburg, right above a patch of land McDuck Enterprises purchased three years ago. Neither Della or you were answering my calls. I was expecting you to be the one in that rocket Scrooge, you always liked making history. Instead, I find you here, alone. So tell me. What. Did. You. Do?” The sailor seized the collar of Scrooge’s crimson crushed velvet jacket, and pulled his previously sobbing face closer to the sailor’s threatening one.

“It was supposed to be me Donnie.” Scrooge choked out. “I was supposed to be in that ship, but Della, she...she” The old man gave up on using his words and pulled a small, yet neatly folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket, and handed it to the sailor. He unfolded it warily, and immediately recognized his sister’s looping handwriting.

_ ‘Uncle Scrooge,  _

_ I took the Spear of Selene, I’m sorry. _

_ -Della’ _

“So what, she’s in space. Where? For how long?” The sailor interrogated, dropping the arm holding the note to his side.

“Forever.” The trillionaire whispered, barely audible. “There was a cosmic storm, she almost made it through, but….” he trailed off, once again finding himself unable to force the words out. Instead, he pressed a switch on the control panel. Blood-red light flooded the room as the massive monitor switched on. There on the screen were two words.

**Transmission Lost**

The sailor knew what that message meant. After all, there was only one thing it could mean. His sister was dead, if not at this very moment, she soon would be. The sailor didn’t know much about the Spear, just the initial idea he was pitched and what he could gather from pieces of conversations he wasn’t supposed to hear, plus the spare scraps of paper his twin left around relating to the project. But what he did know was that the Spear was expensive, experimental, dangerous, and most importantly, took a long time to build. 

It would be impossible to mount any attempt at rescue, and even if they did, all efforts would be fruitless. At best they would find her body to bury, nothing more. And why? Because his sister had wanted to search the stars, but mostly because his uncle had betrayed the sailor’s trust and given his twin the means to die alone in space. 

why?

_ Why? _

**_WHY!?_ **

He had told Scrooge one thousand times over, 

_ ‘Space is too dangerous’  _

_ ‘The triplets need all of us, none of us can afford to leave now. Think of what's best for them.’  _

_ ‘No matter what she says, Della cannot go, she’s too reckless.’  _

Every sentence, every protest, every garbled word he spoke went either ignored or indignantly addressed, his uncle’s cool, yet biting answers and his sister’s fiery rage rose to match his own temper. Frenzy and furor filled their home. Shouts, yells, and harsh words echoed about the halls of the manor, fists were raised and lowered, tongues contorted to spit cruel insults and even crueler threats. 

_ ‘You’re just being paranoid, like you always are.’ _

_ ‘He’s just being stupid is what he’s being. What does he know about adventuring?! He’s always been the weak link in our crew!’ _

_ ‘She’ll be there and back without the youngins even knowing the difference.’ _

_ ‘I’m their parent, not you, you don’t get to decide what’s best for them!’ _

_ ‘What? Della is one of the most experienced adventures I’ve ever known, second only to me.’ _

_ ‘No stop trying to defend me Scrooge, I can speak for myself. In fact, oh twin of mine, why don’t you tell how reckless I am to my fist! In fact, if you’re gonna be like this, I don’t think you can be the triplet’s godfather anymore!’ _

The arguments went on for days, weeks, until finally a concession was made. Scrooge made a promise to the sailor. He wouldn’t commision the Spear of Selene to be built until the triplets were born, and then they would have another conversation on if/how they would use it.

“You promised me.” The sailor growled under his breath, the piece of paper bouncing against the floor, a crumpled ball of unreadable parchment, as his hands curled into fists. “You told me that you would wait. That you would make  _ her _ wait.”   
  


“I-I know I did, I tried Donnie, but she-” 

“No! No excuses or justifications, no tricks, no lies this time.” Tears threatened to fall from the sailor’s eyes but he would not let them, not now, not ever. “Della’s dead isn’t she?”

“We don’t know that-”

“ISN’T SHE!?” 

“yes.” The trillionaire whispered, tears dripping onto the floor as his head hung low.

The sailor let out a deep, guttural yell of pain as he raised up his fists and slammed them down on the control panel, a loud clang ringing out as his hands dented the metal. Sparks flew out, and a crackle was heard as the massive screen in front of them went dead, crimson light extinguished and cloaking the room in darkness once more. 

The sailor did not say a word more, but simply extracted his bleeding hands out of the metal, blood mixing with the tears on the ground as he walked out of the room. He retreated to the brightly lit hallway. The artificial light burning his dry eyes as his shaking palms gripped the handle of the stroller.

What was he going to do?

The question and innumerable uncertainties penetrated his brain and would not let up as he loaded back into his car and started on the long drive to the Duckburg pier.

The thing that was completely certain is that the sailor now has the full custody of three kids who just became orphans. He was their godfather, their uncle, but now he had to be their father. But he wasn’t ready for any of this, hell, he wasn’t ready to raise kids when he had two others to help, much less now. 

What did he have? Practically nothing. A battered, beat-up old boat, an even shittier jalopy, and not even twenty bucks in probably expired groceries. He didn’t have the resources to raise three children, and it wasn’t like he could just get a job, no person of sound mind would ever hire him in the entire state of Calisota, his bad luck had made absolute sure of that. 

And even if he didn’t have that curse, he had a very particular set of skills, none of which were very marketable. He was good at brawling, fencing, and had a gift with numbers that had earned him an accountant position at the money bin. At the end of the day, his uncle was the only person who would ever hire him. And he couldn’t go back to that man.

Righteous anger burned in his very soul at the mere thought of Scrooge. Della had been his closest confidant, his best friend, his twin, his world. The day they lost their parents, the day Gladstone lost his, the day that they went on their first adventure, the first time he held a sword, the first time he kissed a girl, their first drink, their first monster, their first everything. Della was there. Every tragedy, every triumph, every moment of his life she had been there. But now, now the man that he had been tempted to call his father, the man who had raised him, had made him the man he was today, had taken his own twin away from him.

He was so distracted by his thoughts that he almost didn’t register the drive back, and the next he knew he was parked in front of the rented pier. He slid out of his car and once again retrieved the secured eggs from the backseat. He wheeled the bassinet onto the planked wood, barely noticing the feel of the ground against his feet. His nerves were rattled, his mind shaken, his senses dulled.

He mindlessly kicked open the door to the houseboat, a beam of moonlight filtering through the open door, barely illuminating the shadowy room. He left the stroller by the door and quickly threw together a makeshift nest of blankets on his overly torn and stained couch. He placed the eggs gently into the cobbled together padding and cradled his head in his hands.

What was he going to do?

But a sound interrupted his thoughts. It was subtle, barely audible, and most would brush it off as something insignificant. But a lifetime of adventure and danger had taught the sailor otherwise. So he whipped around, snatching a sword that was propped against a wall and pointing the cutlass at the vulture who stood in his foyer, the tip of the blade not an inch from the crooked neck of the hunched bird.

“Now, now Mr. Duck, that won’t be necessary.” The Buzzard chided, having not even flinched as the weapon almost came into contact with his throat.

“Bradford? What are you doing here?” The sailor asked in his garbled tongue, dropping the sword to his side.

“As the director to such a large organization, I hear things. Including what happened at the off the books McDuck Enterprises compound, number eighty-seven, launchpad three at exactly seven-o-three this evening.” The vulture turned as he spoke, hands folded behind his back as he stalked toward the battered old table the sailor had in the small nook adjacent to his kitchen before iclining his head back to meet the sailor’s eyes. 

“You have my condolences.”

“Thank you?” The sailor quirked a questioning eyebrow as the vulture took a seat at his table, interlacing his slender fingers in front of him, resting them on the flat surface.

“But that’s not why I’m here.” 

“Then why are you here?”

“Here. Sit.” The vulture gestured to the empty seat in front of him. And the sailor warily took a seat, sparing one more glance behind him at the eggs before he rested in the oaken chair.

“The rocket launched this evening or the ‘Spear of Selene’ as it was codenamed was built using McDuck Enterprises funds, researchers, and materials. ** _Unauthorized_** company resources, as the board was not even aware of its existence until three-o-two of this afternoon. In short, the Spear was completely the work of Scrooge McDuck, and those forced to work on the project. But through this process of trickery, the rocket was unstable, not fit for flight. No one should have commandeered it, and Scrooge knew that. But of course you know who ended up piloting the craft despite this.”

“Della.” He whispered, the news washing over him. 

“Yes. Those are hers are they not?” He vaguely gestured in the general direction of the improvised nest. “And I assume the father is nowhere to be found?”

“Yes.” The sailor choked out, not wanting to talk about this, yet still trying to keep up with the conversation.

“Which leaves you as their sole caretaker. Correct?” The vulture adjusts the pair of spectacles on his beak.

“Why are you barraging me with these questions Bradford?”

“My apologies, call it curiosity. But I must say this is not the ideal place to bring them up in.” The Buzzard took an exaggerated look about the room.

“No, it isn’t.” The sailor admitted. His home was no place for children, with the plumbing issue, the faulty electricity, the tendency for it to catch fire, no part of it was fit for hatchlings, much less growing kids.

“I know that look. You don’t want to raise your sister’s children here, and no one can fault you for that. However, I believe I may have a solution.” The Buzzard leaned forward a cold look in his eye.

“I want to offer you a job.”

“What? Being one of Scrooge’s financial pawns? I’d rather hang myself.”

“Oh no Mr. Duck. For you see, being on McDuck’s board is only one of my directorial roles. I am also the director of a organization known as the Fiendish Organization for World Larceny, or-”

“F.O.W.L. You’re the leader of F.O.W.L?!” The sailor stood incredulously, looming over the smirking vulture.

“Yes Mr. Duck. And we would like to offer you a place in our innermost circle. You know F.O.W.L. You know what we do, what we stand for. And as such we believe that you and F.O.W.L share similar interests.” 

“Like what? You want to kill my uncle.” The sailor sat back down in his chair, settling the vulture with a curious glare. 

“We will kill McDuck, but only after he’s served his purpose in getting us what we really want, what we both really want. Money, power, and revenge against Scrooge McDuck. Think of it, you could finally give McDuck a taste of the suffering you have lasted through in these many years. Give him a small inkling of the pain you have endured your whole life.”

And the sailor did think. He thought of car wrecks and closed caskets, of empty speeches and meanless condolences. He thought of long lines of gravestones. He thought of tranquil ponds, of endless rows of golden corn, and of freshly baked cookies. He thought of fire and smoke filling his lungs, he thought of the person who pulled him from the wreckage, he thought of the small leather jacket that was wrapped around his shoulders as the embers settled. He thought of frightening limos and big houses, tall dogs and even taller walls. He thought of the hand interlaced with his as they walked into the massive foyer for the first time. 

He thought of the first trek to a city of gold, a massive glittering robot boring down on them. He thought of who defeated the thing, of who saved his life one thousand times over. But then he thought of being frozen in ice as an uncaring uncle laughed, he thought of the fruits of his work given to amass in a soulless bin, he thought of always being second best, always being inferior to the both of them. He thought of the lush greens and the sound of running water. He thought of the man who tried to pick his pocket as the other man crowed and strummed a distration. He thought of guitars, and cellos, flutes and snappy serappes. He thought of having to leave his friends, his brothers because that man demanded him back. He thought of the day he left.

He thought of shells and screams and sinking ships, he thought of empty coffins, worthless medals, abandoned funerals and forgotten, flowerless graves. He thought of the sound of gunfire as he woke in a cold sweat with a strangled yell, he thought of dirty bars and the bottoms of bottles, he thought of the sound of the manor's door slamming in his face. He thought of the filthy boat, and the sleepless nights that followed, he thought of the countless empty bottles. He thought of the hesitant knock at the door, he thought of the bright face of his twin standing outside the doorway. 

He thought of the shower and shave he was forced into, he thought of facing the harsh sun of another adventure, bags heavy under his eyes, and headache pounding in his head, he thought of the only thing that kept him running through that jungle. He thought of the pull against his hand, her fingers interlaced in his own as she refused to let him go, he thought of the moment his sister told him the news, the moment he decided to change for her, for those three innocent, unborn souls. 

He thought of his dear sister, the light of his life, taken away in an instant, in a snap of the fingers, with the simple push of a button. Finally, he thought of the triplets, not hatched, yet having faced such tragedy, and he thought of the man responsible for it all. 

“I have some conditions.”

A wide, toothy smile came across the Buzzard’s curved beak, the glass of his spectacles glittering in the sparse moonlight.

“Name them.”

“I want guaranteed housing, food, and income for me and my children. As well as protection from both McDuck and his enemies.”

“That can be arranged.” He replied immediately. “Though the children will have to work in the organization as well, as to not disturb cover.”

“And I want-” The sailor stopped himself, eyes downcast upon the scratched wooden surface of the table.

“What?” The Buzzard implored, staring at the top of the sailor’s head with a scrutinizing gaze.

The sailor’s eyes rose to meet the Buzzard’s own, his voice crackling like lightning, grey eyes hardened like freshly forged steel, yet swirling with the rage of one thousand hurricanes.

“I want to be the one to kill Scrooge McDuck.” A dark chuckle filled the boat, scatchy, yet deep as the vulture’s eyes glinted with ruthless mirth.

“Done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm still working on my rewrite of I Am The Storm, but just needed to post this so that I wouldn't have to rewrite all the unique tags.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Kudos are great, comments are better.


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